I'm bowing humbly and begging your forgiveness. Life is cruel, and I am its hapless pawn. I hope to post more regularly now – we're in the stretch on this story anyway, and then I have to decide which one to proceed with next. Review or email me and let me know which of the following you want to see:
The Grand Prix – horses, eventing, and DBZ; what more can you want? B/V you say? You got it!
Next story in the "Kiss" series – will Vegeta come home and face the consequences, or will Bulma have to go get him?
Heir To The Empire – A "what if" that is completely AU and definitely not B/V. Vegeta-sei's queen is a slave in the control of a third-class scientist, and the heir to the empire is a half-breed. What will happen when he steps forward to claim his birthright – revolution or revolt?
Let me know, or I'll decide, and then you missed your chance to influence events…
*----------*----------*
"Knock her out and get her to the med bay," he snaps to the two holding me. One of them presses something to my arm just I hear him say to the brown alien that hit me, "You'd better hope she fully recovers or Montidulein will have you for breakfast." Then the world is black, and I fall into it.
* * *
I wake up in a hospital bed. How do I know it is a hospital, despite the fact that I can't read the strange language on the cabinets? I know because all hospitals smell the same; a clean, dry smell that barely covers the deeper scent of bodies gone wrong. And my stomach doesn't feel like someone dropped a building on it.
I try to sit up, only to discover that some asshole has secured me to the bed with some kind of wide leather-like strips. I growl in anger, wishing I were Vegeta – I could break these easily then. There are latches on them, but I can't touch one hand to the latches of the other. I bend down and try to use my mouth, but I quickly have to admit defeat. They're designed to prevent someone from getting out of them like that.
The door snaps open and the strangely reflective alien walks into the room. "How do you feel?" he asks me in a polite tone.
"Great, I love being held captive," I snap in reply. "It is always so much fun."
"Ah, sarcasm," the crystal alien says with false nostalgia. "Your people are very good at it, you know."
"Thanks," I sneer, trying to work my wrists against the straps unobtrusively.
"You're quite welcome," the alien answers, smiling, I think. It's hard to tell; the light bouncing off of him keeps distorting my vision. "As we're in the complementing stage of negotiation, I should also mention that we find your ingenuity quite remarkable as well, though that trait is more of a personal one for you."
"Negotiation?" I grunt angrily. "Negotiation involves civilized discussion over tea and crackers with funny-colored junk on them, and no one has served either yet."
"Have you ever been at a negotiation that was for your life, though?" he asks pleasantly, as if he were asking what honey I would like with my biscuits. "It might not involve tea. Maybe," he pauses to draw out a rather large knife, "you just haven't experienced this kind of negotiation."
I stare at the knife, unable to take my eyes from it. "I'm guessing that you're planning to instruct me, though," I reply, and am relieved when he chuckles at my joke, lightening the tension in the room.
"Oh, yes, my dear Bulma," he answers with a slow nod of his head. "I plan to teach you about this kind of negotiation."
"Oh, don't worry about doing that!" I giggle insanely. "I'm a self-learner; I really pick things up better when I learn about them on my own."
"Well, if you think so, my dear," he answers benevolently as he puts the knife away. "Let us move past the complements and threats stages and get straight to business, then. I have your device, and I want you to make it work on me."
He moves over to a cabinet and opens it, pulling a device out. One glance tells me that this is not my ki-adjusting device; it takes a long, second glance for me to realize that it's a toaster with the plastic cover stripped off, and a computer's mother board jammed into each slot. "What the hell is that?" I ask.
"What?" the alien stops bringing it to me and his smile fades. Instead, anger is growing in his expression. When he speaks, his voice is trembling with rage, "What do you mean?"
I hesitate, trying to decide what I can say to appease him. Before I can figure out much of anything, he pulls his knife and strides to the bed with it raised high. I shriek in fear, but he just slams it into the bed next to my head. "No lies, human!" he screams as he shakes the toaster-thing in my face. "Or next time," he hisses as he holds up some of my hair, cut loose by the knife, "I will cut something that bleeds!"
"It's a toaster that someone modified!" I yelp, praying that he believes me.
"A what? Is that a weapon?" he growls.
"No," I gasp, certain that this will set him off. "It brows bread, a food, turns it into toast."
He stares at me, breathing sharply through his nose. "It is a food preparer?" he finally asks, his voice almost calm.
I nod frantically, happy that he believes me. With a sour, alien curse, he turns from me and walks over to a panel on the wall. Pushing a button, he speaks into it in a course, grinding tongue. I recognize only one word: Vegeta.
My thoughts fly to the Saiyan Prince. Is he better? Is he trying to find me? Or is he stomping around the house, muttering that his droids weren't fixed or that he had surpassed the Gravity Machine's maximum settings again? I realize that I might never hear his gruff voice or see that sour scowl again, and I'm washed with a wave of homesickness.
I'm startled to discover that part of me now equates Vegeta with home and safety. I want nothing more than to see his angry, closed little face glaring at me for some minor infraction, just like all the boys on the playground used to do to the little girls. Funniest thing was that they did it because they were trying to push the girls away, when really, they were in love.
I shake off the fantasy when my captor hurls the fake machine into a wall with a screamed curse. I bit my tongue to keep silent, to keep his anger directed anywhere but me. But with the untimely death of the poor former toaster, I'm the only target in the room.
He spins and walks up to me, leaning over the bed. "Girl, you'd better hope that they can find that device. Otherwise, I will make things unpleasant for you." He smiles, almost sympathetically as he continues, "Now, where did you put it?"
"In my locked cabinet in my lab," I cry desperately.
He grabs the knife, wrenches it out of the bed and slams it back into the mattress. This time it nicks my ear, and I cut back another yip. "Liar!" he hisses. "That is where our agent went, and that fake was the only thing in there." His eyes narrow in suspicion. "Unless that was the real thing and you tricked me into destroying it. Which are you, my dear: a lying bitch or a scheming bitch?"
"Dad might have moved it to one of his safe cabinets," I gasp out, my ear stinging from the cut.
"Then our agents know who to ask now," he murmurs, running a sharp, cold hand down my cheek. "If we can't find what we seek, that is? Are you sure you didn't move it? If we have to ask your father, I doubt he would enjoy the experience very much."
"No," I cry, pulling against my bonds, "I'm not lying. Please don't hurt my father."
"Don't make us hurt him, dear," the alien replies soothingly. And then he's gone, leaving me alone in a dark hospital, knife against my trembling ear. How long they leave me there, I don't know; I quickly lose track of time in the dark room, straining to see or hear anything, jumping when I do.
When the room shakes and shudders and a low boom roars through the air, if feel relief as well as fear. At least something is happening, and it could even be a rescue! A wall of the hospital begins to glow red, and I have only a second to turn my head and pull my shoulders up, trying to get some protection from them. The wall explodes into the room, and I feel dust and debris pelt me lightly.
I finally glance at the door, afraid of what I'll see. But the sight that greets my eyes lifts my heart – Yamcha is waving the dust aside as he peers into the room. "Yamcha!" I scream joyously, and he grins as he sees me.
"Oh, Bulma," he says as he dashes to my side. "How do you get yourself into these things?"
I laugh, too relieved to get upset at that crack. We'll talk about it later, over withheld affection and a set of pliers. "Get me out of here!" I cry, even though he's already fumbling at the latch on my arm.
"Move it, humans!" I hear Vegeta's harsh voice cry. I look past Yamcha to see him—
I stop, staring at him. The light is falling from behind him, shadowing his face while highlighting his build. It flashes through his hair, lighting it on fire. I realize that I'm gaping at him, but I can't stop. He's… beautiful.
